The Mayberry Preacher

FINDING EVERYTHING IN AN EMPTY TOMB

Luke 24: 1-12
Steve Lindsley
March 31, 2013
Easter Sunday

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There is a place out in the vast expanse of our universe that has within it, quite literally, nothing.  A massive void, nearly a billion light-years in diameter.  Inside this void you will find no stars, no planets, no galaxies, no gases.  One scientist, realizing the limits of the human brain to comprehend such things, simply described it as “a big bubble in the cosmic pancake batter. ”  If that image doesn’t describe this void any better, at least it makes it sound more tasty. (http://homileticsonline.com/subscriber/btl_display.asp?installment_id=93040449&item_id=93051428&keywords=massive%20void, visited on 3.29.2010)

So for the record, one light year is the distance light travels in a year; roughly six trillion miles.  You and I have church members who run marathons, and 26 miles seems like a long distance to me.  Try six trillion miles, and then multiply that by a billion.  That's how large this void in our universe is.

I don’t know about you, but It’s hard for me to comprehend something that massive.  But you know what’s even harder?  Comprehending something that massive with nothing in it.  I mean, surely the scientists have missed a lone planet or a renegade star, right?  It's got to have something in there.  And yet, all the data is conclusive: there is nothing there. This billion-light year void way out there in space is 100% empty.

How do you think something like that feels?  It’s an odd question, I know – we’re not accustomed to thinking about something like space having feelings.  But humor me for a minute: what does a billion light year void in our universe feel like?  What kind of words come to mind - Cold?  Alone?  Hopeless?  Isolated?  What would it feel like to be right in the middle of a cosmic heap of nothing?

Empty space.  An empty place.  An empty tomb.  A universe of nothing.  A tomb of nothing. 

“Perplexed” is the word Luke uses to describe how they felt when they entered that nothingness on Easter morning.  Perplexed.  Because it was not at all what they expected to find there.  They fully anticipated a body there, because that is what you find in tombs.  A tomb without a body in it is....well, it’s empty space, isn’t it?  They fully expected to find the body of Jesus there, and as was their custom, they would anoint that body with the spices they brought. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body.

How do you think Mary Magdalene felt in the midst of all that emptiness – the agonizing pain one feels when the space their best friend used to occupy is now empty? She was in the midst of the week-long period of mourning, as was their custom.  They all were.  And now, just three days removed, she has come to the tomb, armed with those spices; the ritual of her faith being the only thing filling up the emptiness.  She expected to find Jesus’ body there.  And what did she find? Nothing.  An empty tomb.

We all have “massive voids” in our life, of one kind or another; and we know what they feel like: the empty space that exists when things that used to be there, or should be there, are not.  It happens when we give our heart to someone who doesn't give theirs back.  It happens when we practice and practice and practice, and still don't make the team.  It happens when we wake up the day after being let go from our job with nothing to do.  It happens when we try to do the right thing but somehow keep screwing it up over and over again.  It happens when everything changes, and yet nothing seems to change.

We try, of course, to pretend the emptiness isn’t there; that we have our fill.  Because the society you and I live in doesn’t look kindly upon empty things.  So we tell ourselves, and tell others,  Everything is fine.  We’re managing real well since the funeral.  Oh, we have plenty in the bank account.  No, no, we’re not depressed.  My mom and Dad – they’re getting along great.  We’re not anxious one bit about life after graduation. We’re just fine. We’re fine. 

And yet even our most well-crafted and well-intentioned rituals cannot fill up the empty space.  These are huge cold spots; massive voids. Coming to the tomb and finding no body there.  How does that make you feel?   

They were perplexed, scripture tells us.  Do ya think?!  This is not what happens!  From the time they were tiny children, from that moment when they first understood the fleeting nature of life and inevitability of death, they understood the harsh and iron-clad truth: tombs have bodies in them that never leave.  So they were perplexed, and certainly other things too.  Confused.  Frightened.  Discombobulated.  When the gospel of Matthew talks about an “earthquake” at the tomb on Easter morning, it very well could have been the earthquate going on inside of Mary's mind! 

Two men in dazzling clothes suddenly appear next to them.  More perplexing; more confusion!  Don't you see?  From the minute the women set foot on that sacred ground, from the minute they peered inside the tomb, all bets were off!  The two men – not angels, as other gospels suggest, but two men.  In dazzling clothes, it says – sequins, maybe?  Is it their clothes that were dazzling, or what they said that made them all bright and shiny?  The question they asked; posed in the context of billions of light years of questions that surely were running through the minds of those women still trying to make sense of an empty tomb.  The question they asked:

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

Why were they looking for the living among the dead?  Better yet, was it even the living they were looking for?  They had come to the tomb that morning to anoint a body, three days dead. And yet the bright and shiny men had asked them why they were looking for the living.  Is it possible that those women didn’t fully understand what they were looking for on that Easter morning?  Is it possible that we don’t, either? 

Every year, on this day, we follow in the footsteps of those women.  We come before this cross – a symbol of death, the worst kind of death – and we cover it with flowers.  Front and back, top to bottom.  A cross.  It’s almost as if we know that those dazzling men weren’t just speaking to the women.  They are still speaking, and they are asking us that same question today.

So why, my friends?  Why?  Why do WE come to this place, on this day, looking for the living among the dead?

Is it because we feel we have to, because it’s Easter?  Or could it be because we, like Mary and the others, want so much to fill that massive void with something?  We do not like empty things!  We much prefer to find life in places where there was once death.  We are creatures of beginnings, not endings.  Around 350 years ago, the French mathematician Blaise Pascal surmised that the human heart is like an “infinite abyss.” Perhaps a billion light years big. He said that we try in vain to fill our hearts with everything around us — education, jobs, homes, money, friends, family.  But none of these can fill the void completely.  And so as Pascal so aptly puts it:

This infinite abyss can only be filled with an infinite and immutable object;
in other words, God.

Do you see what this means?  Do you see the astounding paradox of it all?  In finding nothing in the tomb, those women found everything.  In confronting the cold dark abyss of death, they were surprised to find new life.  That is what Mary and the other women came to understand as they ran back to find the others and tell them of all they had not seen and all they’d seen. Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here; he is risen!

You know, every Easter Sunday we gather in this sanctuary and celebrate the resurrection to the nth degree.  We do Easter pretty well, I gotta say!  We wear our lovely Easter outfits and ties; we bring our flowers to the cross.  We sing rousing hymns like “Jesus Christ is Risen Today” and “Christ is Alive!” and fill this empty space with joyful sound.  We gather before the Lord's table and share once again this holy meal.  There’s an extra spirit in the air – handshakes become hugs, smiles smile a bit wider, and the joy of the day rests upon each of our hearts.

Have you noticed how it never gets old, no matter how many Easter services we attend in our life; no matter how many times we bring our flowers and sing our hymns and share in our meal?  Have you noticed that the joy is always there?  You know why that is?  It’s because what fills the empty, hollow spaces on this glorious day is more than we can possibly imagine; more than we could ever hope for.  You and I plunge head-first into the scandalous, outrageous reality of this day – that death does not have the last word.  That death has been transformed into new life.  That you and I are transformed in it.

In fact, that's why I love the way the gospel of Mark ends the Easter story.  It’s similar to Luke's – the women come to the tomb, they find it empty, they’re met by a stranger who tells them to go tell the world.  And you know what happens after that in Mark?  You know what happens?  Nothing!  Absolutely nothing! Unlike the other gospels, there are no resurrection appearances, there’s no road to Emmaus or doubting Thomas, there’s no eating grilled fish on the beach with Jesus.  Nothing but empty space.

Except it’s not really empty.  Because you and I get to fill that space up!  You and I get to write our own ending to the Easter story!  Those women have come to us, to tell us the Good News: that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.  And you and I get to fill up that space and write our own ending and respond with our lives – by living as Easter people.  By being a transformed people.  By following the resurrected Jesus in loving our enemies and caring for the least of these and healing the broken and infusing new life in billion light-year voids.

So we leave the tomb behind – because, as the shiny guys said, he’s not there anymore.  Jesus is out there, waiting for us to meet him and tell the world that they need not look for the living among the dead one moment longer.

So what are we waiting for, my friends?  What are we waiting for?!  Let's go find the risen Jesus!  Let’s go find him and invite him to live in us forever, so we can embody him in this world.  So empty tombs are no longer an ending but a beginning.  Let's go find Jesus - because he is alive.  He is alive!!  In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, thanks be to God!  AMEN!

SIGNS AND WONDERS - WHAT WAS LOST IS FOUND

John 20: 1-18, John 11: 17, 21-27, 38-44
Steve Lindsley
Easter Sunday
April 8, 2012

 

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Have you ever lost something that was so precious and dear to you?  So important and so vital that you didn’t think you’d be able to live without it; and how you’d give anything – anything – to have it back?  Have you ever missed something like that so badly?

Because I’m telling you, as I stood outside the empty tomb that morning all those years ago, I was drowning in my loss.  They have taken my Lord and my savior, and I don’t know where they put him.  It was all I could think about.  See, I had already lost Jesus once on the cross.  And now I had lost him a second time.

Going to the tomb that morning was the last thing I wanted to do, you understand.  Rising out of bed long before the sun’s light raced across the earth.  If I had my druthers, I would’ve stayed in bed all day long.  Hiding from the new day that would remind me, excruciatingly so, all that had happened to Jesus in just three days. Captured and tried and executed as a criminal; put to death by the Roman empire and those who simply could not stand anyone else claiming authority.  I had been forced to face his death alone when everyone else ran away.  I stood my ground. I was there when he breathed his last and died; I was there when they sealed him in that cold dark cave, entombing not just him but all the hope and light and love he embodied.  And now, every bit of it would decay and rot in that tomb.  Because nothing that goes into a tomb ever comes out.

It was not at all what I wanted to do; to go and anoint his dead body, as is our Jewish custom.  But I did up anyway.  I did it for him; only for him.  Even in his death, I still walked where he led me.  And so as I made my way along that winding path with the new day sun peeking around rock crevices and trees, I prepared for the onslaught on my senses – the smell of decay, the sight of decomposing flesh, the sound of silence that finds its home in tombs.  All reminding me of the harsh truth that I was still coming to grips with – that Jesus, my teacher and preacher, my Lord and my savior, my master and my friend, Jesus was dead.  Alive no more.

We all had seen the signs, first-hand.  How he filled the jars with new wine at the wedding, wine that was even better than what was in them before, saving the best till now.  How he healed the centurion’s son and the crippled man, showing us that God’s grace was meant for all.  How he fed the thousands of hungry with an abundance we never even knew we had; how he walked on water and lifted Peter right out of his very failure.  How he gave sight to the one who had never seen before, and how he exposed as blind those who had made such a great pretense of seeing.

And then, just a week or so before, how Jesus walked right up to that tomb; a tomb much like the one I was heading to at this very moment.  A tomb that belonged to his friend Lazarus, who was our friend too.  He had died to us; he was lost to us. 

His sister Martha, expressing to Jesus her faith in the resurrection to come.  But Jesus told her something else: I am the resurrection and the life, he said.  And with that, he turned to the now open tomb, all the stench coming out, and told Lazarus to get out of there.  And Lazarus walked right out!  Still wrapped in burial cloths, but alive again, breathing again, living again!  What was lost was found!
Signs, every last one of them.  Not signs to “wow” the crowds or to prove anything.  Signs to point us all closer and closer to Jesus, like mileposts along the journey.  Signs showing us who Jesus was, revealing the glory of God to the world!

But now, now all that glory was lost forever, sealed away in a tomb with a stone rolled in front.

Except that stone was no longer there!  That’s what I saw with my own two eyes as I rounded the corner to the place where they laid him.  The tomb was wide open.  Burial cloths folded on the ground; the stone off to the side.  And my stomach sank as I realized that I had lost my Jesus again.  They have taken my Lord and my savior, and I don’t know where they put him. 

What do you do with loss like that, huh?  What do you do with yourself when you lose something that can never be replaced?  When what you’ve lost is so much more than a possession of yours, but is the very definition of who you are?  Because we all found our true selves in Jesus.  We all had our jars filled, our brokenness healed, our hunger satisfied.  We all were lifted right out of our failures and healed of our blindness.  That’s who Jesus was to us!  So what do you in that hopeless period that follows the cross, when empty tombs are all you’re left with; a painful reminder that Jesus is nowhere to be found?

Because, see, I think so much of life happens in that place.  Loss is a frequent companion along the journey, isn’t it?  Loss of a loved one.  Loss of innocence.  Loss of a relationship, loss of a job.  Loss of what was familiar and comfortable; loss of a much hoped-for opportunity.  Jesus came to put an end to loss forever; and show us the beauty of what we can find in and through him.  Jesus came to do all that, and more.  And now he was lost to us.  He was lost to me. 

They come running back to the tomb with me, running back up that same path, running to see what I had seen – or not seen, as it were.  Peter and the “other disciple,” who ran faster than the rest of us.  So fast that we couldn’t even remember his name!  But that’s the way it is, isn’t it?  We all make our own pace in the journey that leads us to the tomb, don’t we?  Some of us take more time; others can’t get there fast enough.   The important thing, though, is that we’re all heading in the same direction.  We’re all headed there together.

They see exactly what I had already seen, what I had told them about – the moved stone, the open tomb, the folded burial cloths.  One says he believes – but what, exactly?  What does he believe?  He doesn’t say, he just runs away, so excited.  Me?  I am as lost as ever.

And so it is there, standing outside the open tomb, where he finds me.  The gardener.  He finds me there, weeping my eyes out.  And he asks me what’s wrong.  He asks me who I am looking for.  So I tell him, as I’ve told them all a thousand times:

They have taken my Lord and my Savior, and I don’t know where they put him.

And I respectfully ask this gardener that if he has taken my Jesus, if he has put his body somewhere, to just let me know where, so I can go with my ointment and anoint his body as is our custom.  Just grant me this one favor, please.  One small grace so I can bring closure to all of this and entomb Jesus one last time. 

And it is at that moment, at that very moment, that I find him.  And all he has to do is say my name!  Mary.  He says “Mary” and the last sign reveals itself to me, like the early morning sun illuminating the darkened earth.  It is the miracle to end all miracles!  Because this man before me is not the gardener.  He is the one I’d been searching for all morning long – all my life, really.  He is Jesus!  And he is not lost, he is found.  He is not dead, he is alive!

Tell the others, he says to me.  And so I do.  I run back and tell everyone that I have seen the Lord!  Seen him with my own eyes; heard him with my ears.  Jesus – not lost, but found.  Not dead, but alive!  I tell them all, and they hear me.  And they go and tell others.  And even now, we are still telling the story – after all these years, the wonderful story of a moved stone and an empty tomb and folded burial cloths and a gardener who was not a gardener and Jesus calling me by my name and being alive all over again.  Alive for every one of us!

And you know what I eventually came to understand, much later?  It took awhile, but I know it’s the truth.  Jesus was never lost – I was.  I was the lost one.  We all are lost, aren’t we – if we’re honest with ourselves?  Every one of us, trying to figure out who we are, what we’re here to do, what our life means.  Trying to make sense of a world where jars are always empty, where human bodies are perpetually broken, where stomachs go hungry all the time, where failure is a constant companion, where eyes are overcome with blindness.

That is the world we know – until that moment when Jesus finds us!  He finds us when he comes out of an empty tomb that simply cannot contain him one moment longer.  He finds us and embraces us in everlasting love.  And he fills our empty jars, he heals our brokenness, he feeds our bodies, he lifts us out of our failures, he makes the blind to see.  Signs, pointing us to the glory of God.  Pointing us to him.

There is no doubt: Easter is a miracle!  But do you know what the real miracle of Easter is?  It is not that Jesus walked out of a tomb.  It is not that one man defied death.  The real miracle of Easter, the real sign of God’s glory, is that Jesus, like he did with Lazarus, beckons each one of us out of our own tombs – he tells us to “get out of there!”  All those things that lead to decay and rot; all those things that bind us up like burial cloths.  Jesus frees us from them!  He frees us so we can be who we were created to be: children of God, walking in newness of life.  And what a precious life it is!  Not a life to be wasted, but a life to be lived to the fullest!  And not an ending to our journey of faith, as if victory is all we’re after.  But a beginning.  A beginning to the real work of the kingdom that is just getting started.

That, my friends, is the miracle of Easter.  And it’s a miracle that changed the world.  For we all are lost.  But through the risen Jesus, we all are found.  Called out by our very name and claimed forever by the God who loves us.  Jesus Christ is Risen!  Alleluia!  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, thanks be to God.  AMEN!

KINGDOM-LIVING: THE NEW LIFE YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED

Matthew 6: 7-13; 28: 1-15
Steve Lindsley
Easter Sunday
April 24, 2011

There’s a prayer we say every Sunday in this church, on glorious days like today and ordinary Sundays as well.  We say it as part of our children’s message.  And, you know, I love the fact that, as Shasta tells the kids to hold hands, I look out in the congregation and see many of you doing the same.  It’s the Lord’s Prayer, and it comes to us from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount; this “Kingdom Manifesto” that’s served as our scriptural focus this Lenten season.  I’m going to ask that we say it together, but only the first couple of sentences, at which point I’ll ask you to stop.  So let us pray:

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven….

Stop right there.  For all the hundreds and maybe even thousands of times that you’ve said that prayer, I’m wondering this morning if you heard what you said: Thy kingdom come…ON EARTH as it is in heaven.  On earth. 

We’ve been talking a lot the past few months about this kingdom and about the fact that, according to Jesus, it has more to do with what God is doing in our lives now than some far-off distant time after our death.  We’ve talked about how Jesus has called us in this kingdom – on earth – to do crazy things like love our enemies to death, and walk an extra mile, and stop making a show of our faith, and see who the “blessed ones” really are. And so for the hundreds or thousands of times we’ve prayed this prayer, whether we realized it or not, we’ve joined Jesus in praying daily for God’s kingdom on earth, just as it is in heaven. 

Easter is the culmination of that kingdom! Everything about Easter literally shakes the foundations of the cosmos.  There was an earthquake that Sunday morning, we are told – one so violent that it tossed aside the huge stone that covered the entrance to Jesus’ tomb. An angel appeared to the two women there – and as if the angel’s presence alone wasn’t enough, we are told his appearance was “like lightning.”  You know when you see lightning, how its image stays burned on your retina, seared into your brain long after it’s gone?  That’s how it was to look upon this angel.  The guards at the tomb were so afraid at the mere sight of him that they literally froze still as if dead.  The arrival of God’s kingdom on earth was too much for their bodies to physically handle. 

The angel told the women to go tell the others that Jesus was no longer dead; that God’s kingdom had indeed come down to earth.  They ran off and brought the others to the empty tomb.  And when they brought them back, it wasn’t the angel who greeted them this time, but the risen Jesus himself.  And in the lone anti-climactic moment of the whole affair, Jesus greets his friends with the equivalent of, Hey, what’s up?  Because even in the resurrection’s awe and majesty and wonder, the arrival of God’s kingdom on earth rightly begins with a friendly word of welcome. 

And so for two thousand years since that earth-jolting day, every year on this day, the people of God relive that Easter moment.  This we know.  It’s why we’re here this morning, dressed in our Sunday best.  It’s why we bring flowers to transform an instrument of torture into a symbol of eternal love.  It’s why we double the number of hymns; why we gather around the table together and take part in God’s holy meal.  Only on Easter Sunday could we do something un-Presbyterian like move the worship service an hour earlier and get away with it!

We know what happened on Easter.  But that’s a whole lot different than living it.  Frederick Buechner, a Presbyterian minister and writer, once explained kingdom-living like this:

Time after time Jesus tries to drum into our heads what he means by it.  He heaps parable upon parable like a madman.  He tries shouting it.  He tries whispering it.  What he seems to be saying is that the Kingdom of God is the time…when it will no longer be humans in their lunacy who are in charge of the world, but God in his mercy who will be in charge of the world.  It’s the time above all else for wild rejoicing – like getting out of jail, like being cured of cancer, like finally, at long last, coming home. (Secrets In The Dark by Frederick Buechner, New York: HarperCollins 2005, pg. 118)

My friends, this is a time for “wild rejoicing!”  This is what was set in motion in those first days of creation; a world where God is at the center and the people are charged with taking care of creation instead of manipulating it.  This is what the prophets spoke about time and time again as they railed against the leaders of their day and spoke about God’s justice.  This is what Jesus embodied in his life and death and, now, in his resurrection. Easter is a time for “wild rejoicing!”  Easter is a time for “Good News!”

But that does not mean that it is easy news.  For while kingdom-living is a gift we receive, it is also a burden we must bear.  As citizens of God’s kingdom, we cannot help but be put at odds with the kingdoms of this world:  And the contrasts between the two could not be any greater:

• The kingdoms of this world call blessed those who by human standards are considered “successful.”  God’s kingdom calls blessed the meek and mild, the suffering and the persecuted, all of those forgotten and overlooked.


• The kingdoms of this world say that following the letter of the law is the way to righteousness. God’s kingdom calls its subjects to a deeper level of understanding and a deeper level of faith.


• The kingdoms of this world tell us to love those who love you back and not worry about the rest. God’s kingdom calls us to seek out our greatest offenders and love them to death.


• The kingdoms of this world put a premium on outward appearances and a “good show.”  God’s kingdom cuts through all the fluff and focuses on what’s real.


• Most of all, the kingdoms of this world define power and might in terms of the size of one’s wallet or the stockpile of a nation’s weapons.  But in God’s kingdom, true power comes from a wooden cross, and an empty tomb, and death-in-reverse.

That’s why the kingdoms of this world have no clue what to do with God’s kingdom.  Just look at the end of our passage today – a full-on cover-up story to disclaim the resurrection.  Because the mere thought of something like “death-in-reverse” absolutely terrified them.  So they set out to minimize it, snuff it out like a flame that fades away when the wick is all used up.

But what they found – what the world found – is that the flame of the resurrection of Jesus Christ never gets used up.  And that’s why Easter is not just a nice little story we observe from a distance.  It’s one we enter into with our very lives!  And when we do, we find that our God doesn’t simply roll a stone away from a tomb – this Jesus rolls away anything and everything that acts as a tomb for us; everything that prevents us from living as full-fledged citizens in God’s municipality.  This Jesus does more than call the people of God to moral, upright lives.  This Jesus stirs something inside them – so that, as author Shane Claiborne once put it, they “believe so much in another world that they cannot help but begin enacting it right now.”

How amazing that world must be!  And the fact is, if we look around, we catch glimpses of it here and there – even in the strangest of places.  I saw God’s kingdom one time in a photograph taken, of all places, at an NBA basketball game. Game Five of the 1998 NBA Finals; the Chicago Bulls vs. the Utah Jazz.  I’m sure you’ve seen it before.  The final seconds are ticking off the clock, and Michael Jordan himself is launching a jump shot that, if it goes in, will win the game and the title for the Chicago Bulls.  The picture is taken from behind him, Jordan’s outstretched right arm thrusting the ball in the air.  It is a classic moment, frozen in time. 

It’s easy to focus on Jordan in this picture – he is the reason it was taken, of course.  But if you keep looking, you start to notice the crowd behind the basketball goal; hundreds of people in the picture.  All shapes and sizes.  They’re standing there in rapt attention; their eyes focused on the ball, mouths wide open, arms tucked in, hands clenched.  Their entire body language is hopelessly caught up in that basketball, suspended above the goal, and whether it’s going in or not.

And if you look  a little bit more, you notice something else: a young boy, around ten years old, to the left and six rows up.  What you notice is, while everyone around him is stuck in basketball purgatory, this little guy is ahead of the game.  He wears on his face a jubilant smile; his whole body is an expression of pure joy.  And you notice one last thing: while everyone else has their arms drawn in to their side, he is the only one - the only one - whose arms are raised up; raised to the rafters in a victory that had not yet come to pass. (http://issuu.com/relevantmagazine/docs/relevant49, visited on 3.8.2011)

Say the prayer with me once again please: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  My dear friends, if Easter means anything to us, it means this: the kingdom of God is at hand!  And not in some far-off distant time, but right here and right now.  If only we could be like that little boy and raise our hands to the heavens, even as the world around us continues to wait for what we know will happen.  For what, in a way, has already happened.  He is risen!  He is risen indeed!!  Alleluia!  AMEN!

WITNESSES OF THESE THINGS

Luke 24: 36b-48
Steve Lindsley
April 19, 2009

You know, I don't know about you, but I've come to the conclusion that you can't believe everything you read or hear about these days.  A few years ago I was at the grocery store, standing in the checkout line behind a person whose grocery cart was stuffed far beyond what it’s supposed to hold.  Realizing that I was going to be there for some time, my eyes began to wander to all the little trinkets the grocery store tries to sell you before you leave their clutches - gum, Tic-tacs, batteries, road maps, and, of course, lest we forget, those "respectable sources of newsworthy information" known as tabloids. 

One particular issue caught my eye.  The cover had a picture showing the President at the time shaking hands with a well-dressed space alien.  Across the top of the picture  in large, bold print read the title - Bush meets with alien visitors!  Now, as I’m sure many of you know, I am a rational, logical person, and I'm not taken as a fool too easily.  So, in light of the circumstances, I did the only sensible thing - I bought the magazine.  I took it with me and read it in the privacy of my own home. 

Let me tell you, it was fascinating!  Aliens from outer space had actually come to earth to meet with the President and officially support him in his 2004 Presidential election.   Wow!  It came complete with photographs, full testimony from a couple of eye-witnesses, and even comments from Dr. Thomas, a noted "UFO expert."  Amazing that no other newspapers or magazines picked up on this historical event!  

All kidding aside, we know this “story” is nothing more than a far-fetched tale designed to appeal to our curious nature - or at least keep us entertained in long lines at the grocery store.  You and I accept the fact that the supposed "eye witnesses" were nothing more than a couple of tabloid staff writers with overactive and creative imaginations - for surely something like this could never happen - it’s preposterous!

Or is it?  Think with me or a minute - what if this story were the honest truth?  What if it really did happen – aliens coming to meet with our president?  And not only that, but what if you and I were there and witnessed this?  How would you respond to it?  Would you keep it to yourself, or would you try to share it with others?   Where would you go from there?  What would you do?

Pretty far-out stuff, isn't it?  Well, not really.  See, it's not all that different from the situation in which we as Christians find ourselves.  Our entire faith is based on a miraculous event that by most human standards would be considered, "unbelievable."  One week ago, 253 folks gathered in this very sanctuary to flower the cross, receive communion, listen to some amazing music and – most importantly – celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Now please understand that I am not equating the cornerstone of the Christian faith with a tabloid news story!  But more often than not, you and I take the significance of the resurrection for granted - we've heard the story over and over, and it becomes commonplace to us. 

All of which makes it even more of a challenge to be, as Luke puts it, “witnesses to these things.”  You and I are heirs to the reality of the Resurrection, a seemingly "un-believable" event in human history.  So the same question applies to us: How do we respond to the resurrection?  Do we keep it to ourselves, or do we share this story with others?  Where do we go from here? What do we do?

Sure, we can do what we've always done.  We can celebrate it once a year in a wonderful service of worship, put on our Sunday finest.  We can refer to it a lot in conversation, throw some terms around, talk about how great and wonderful it is.  But there's so much more to it than that, isn't there?

Try this with me – imagine that you are a follower of Jesus, as Luke describes it.   You were there with Jesus during all those years and saw first-hand the wonderful things he did - the healings, the feeding the 5000, raising Lazarus from the dead, making that blind man see.  You were there to hear the incredible teachings of Jesus: the sermon on the mount, the parables.  You saw the tremendous love and passion this guy had for everyone.  You were there at the joyous entry into Jerusalem when you felt like you had the world in your hands.  And you were also there on that Thursday night when he shared a precious last meal with you and was later taken away. 

You were there on Friday, and you watched him die; and for the next 24 hours you felt more devastated and lost than ever before - not only fearing for your life, but suddenly face to face with the strong possibility that the dream you had followed and believed in for so long was over.  And then, in the depths of your despair, you were there when the risen Jesus appeared in your presence.  And for a brief moment in your joy, you pause and reflect on all that has happened; and you say to yourself, This is a wonderful ending to our journey.  But what’s next?  What do I do now? 

And that is when Luke's words jump out of the page and hit us square in the face: You are witnesses of these things.

My Webster's Dictionary defines witness "a person who testifies or attests."  The image of a "witness" in court comes to mind - they knows something significant that has happened and they're summoned to appear before a jury to give their perspective.  They are expected, above all, to tell the truth.  In the church's early days – back when Luke was doing his thing – those first Christians were witnesses  – called by God to testify to the "Good News" of God's love, something that seemed to be "unbelievable," and confess with a confident voice that it was, in fact, very believable.

You are witnesses of these things.  Here's the thing, folks:  Luke's words weren't just for those first-century people.  They are for you and me, too.  You are witnesses of these things!  No, we didn't watch him perform miracles and teach.  No, we didn't watch Jesus crucified; and no, we didn't see the risen Jesus on that first Easter morning.  But the “truth” of all of this is that every Sunday is Easter Sunday; every sabbath is a celebration of the resurrection.  So as part of the Christian legacy, we are witnesses to the Resurrection. And it's not about us needing to have been there long ago to physically see Jesus, as much as it's about acknowledging that Christ still lives today “where two or three are gathered in his name.”  The story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection is a living story; and we are its living  witnesses.  It is alive and real in our hearts as much as anything else in our life.  And as those first disciples were called to testify and "bear witness,” we are empowered to do the exact same thing today.

But it's not always easy, is it – living as a witness?  It's not as simple as it sounds.  Sometimes we just don't know what to do.  Other times we find that “rub” that exists between a faith that claims the impossible and a world that doesn't quite see things the same way. 

I don't know about you, but I get this sensation often.  Including my four years in seminary, I've been in ministry now for sixteen years.  And I've always been humored by the responses of strangers I meet when they learn what it is I do for a living.  You know - I meet someone (maybe in a long grocery line!), we strike up a conversation, introduce ourselves; and eventually the subject comes around to what we do. And when I tell people that I'm a minister, I find that their responses generally fall into one of two categories.  The first category is that the conversation just stops; it ends abruptly, usually with them saying something like “Oh” or “That’s nice.”  And that's it.  I remember this happening one time with a person who was cutting my hair.  You know how awkward it is to get your hair cut without any conversation – none at all?  Very strange.

The second category of responses, on the other end of the spectrum, is that at the very moment my identity is revealed, they feel as if they’ve been given free license to disclose their entire life story.  This exact thing happened – I kid you not – about a month ago on a plane flight to a conference in Louisville.  Folks, there is no worse place for this to happen than on a plane!  We were waiting on the ground for our turn to take off, and the lady sitting next to me – in her 50's, very nice – was quite talkative.  And I could feel it coming.  When she eventually asked me what I did, and I told her – oh wow!   That was it!  For the next three hours until we parted in the airport concourse I got her life story, her family story, her faith story, her church story, her theology, and a stern warning about the hidden codes in the book of Revelation and the fast-approaching end of the world. 

Now – I share this with you because, in all truth, I don't think either of these responses has anything to do with me at all.  Rather, I'm inclined to think that they suggest a touch of uncomfortable-ness, of uneasiness about “God-talk;” about bringing up the topic of God and faith and religion in times and places where such conversations don’t usually happen.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you?  Ever had the experience where you're in a restaurant, you've just received your food and one of your friends asks if he or she can bless it - or, better yet, if you will say the blessing?  How do you explain the hot flush that comes over your face and the feeling that a million eyes are watching as you bow your head to pray?             

Or how about on an airplane, with your briefcase in lap, you open it and close it quickly when you realize that your Bible and Sunday school curriculum lay there on top, staring you and your neighbor in the face.  What will that person think of you if he or she sees it, and what probing questions might they ask? 

Or what about the annual neighborhood summer cookout, enjoying fellowship with good friends; and you find that it's easier to talk about the upcoming election or last year's Superbowl champ than the great discussion you had in your Sunday school class that past week? 

One noted Christian thinker once said that as Christians today, we've effectively learned how to "edit" our conversation and behavior in society so as not to give the impression that we take our religion "too seriously."  This struggle is something we'll always be faced with, I guess.  And yet it's important for us to recognize that the Christian walk does demand a great deal from us: our commitment, our time and talents, our devotion.  To be a "witness" is more than just talking about the Christian journey - it's putting on the sneakers, along with 2000 years of people before us, and walking it as well.

Back a few years ago, in my previous church, it was the week before Easter and I was getting some things ready for the Easter Celebration we had in our fellowship hall during Sunday school.  On a whim I grabbed an erasable marker and wrote the words Happy Easter! on the board outside the kitchen.  I forgot to erase it afterwards and I was out of the office the following week.  When I returned the next Sunday I saw where someone had written new words underneath mine: they said, Easter was last week.  I  kept it up there, curious.  Sure enough, later in the week,  there was a third entry.  Someone with a lot of insight circled the previous discussion and wrote above it: Easter is Forever!

Easter is forever.  And the message to us Easter people, in light of that wonderful news, is this: "You are witnesses of these things."    So let's walk the walk, shall we?  No matter how unbelievable it may be.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

WHEN THE WILDERNESS LEADS US HOME

John 20: 19-31
Steve Lindsley
April 12, 2009 - Easter Sunday

Nighttime falls on Easter,
        the empty tomb now shadowed in the dusk of a setting sun,
                the world shaken to its foundations with a gentle hush
                       and a man who lives again.
They are gathered together,
        those who followed him on the Way all those years;
                those who fled when they realized where that Way was heading.
They are gathered there in fear -
        Fear of those who seek them out,
                fear of those searching for a body which is no longer where it should be,
                        fear of those who say that what they have heard
                                is nothing more than rumor.
The doors are locked; windows shut;
        Concealing within the faithful and shutting out the rest of the world
                Still numb from the day before
                        And the conclusion of a journey into the wilderness
                                That ended far too soon.

They remember Thursday night when they fled in haste;
        The Garden too much for human frailty.
They remember Friday; word from those who saw it with their own eyes,
        Crucified as a criminal, breathing his last breath.
                The skies open and all of creation mourn with tears;
                        His body laid to rest, entombed, stone shut.
They remember Saturday, and the hopelessness that consumed them
        As morning sun followed a sleepless night.
                Silence – absence of good news, redemption,
                        nothing but unfulfilled promises and the finality of death.

They had heard the news, told to them by the women.
        They wanted so much to believe; to embrace the unthinkable:
                Death forever defeated.  New life victorious.
They wanted to trust with all their might in a risen Lord,
        And yet it was too good to be true, too far-fetched to fathom.
                Hopes previously dashed, they could not find the will
                        To believe.

They are gathered there in fear,
        Sequestered from the cruelty of a hopeless world.

And then – then the world comes in to them.

He is there suddenly,
        like sunlight that parts through dark clouds unexpectedly.
He is there among them,
        Just as they remember him days, months, years before.
He speaks to them,
        and it is like fresh oxygen breathed into a stuffy room,
                stifling with angst and anxiety.
He speaks to them, and it puts their soul at ease:
        Peace be with you, he says – Shalom.
                And with one word, the journey into the wilderness finally ends.

It is the same wilderness
        in which their ancestors entered
                as they rejoiced in the glory of their freedom from Egyptian slavery.
It is the same wilderness
        where rocks gushed forth living water
                and stone was inscribed with living law.
It is the same wilderness
        where prophets fled for their lives following elusive victory
                and an exiled people abandoned their music in the trees.
It is the same wilderness
        where a man in burlap ate locusts, drank honey
                and prepared the world for the Way to come.
It is the same wilderness
        where grand mirages tempted to change the course
                of the Son of Man.
And it is the same wilderness
        Where palms and shouts of “Hosanna!”
                led to the agonizing isolation of the Garden.

And now, as Jesus stands among them,
        the wilderness has become no more a place for contemplation,
                for sanctuary, for struggle;
It is now a place where promise finally meets fulfillment;
        Where the line between life and death fades away;
                Where the tomb is no longer known for who resides there,
                        but who does not.
It is the place where the wilderness finally leads home.

But it is a wilderness that the people do not enter into lightly
        Or engage without reservation.
                 It is, after all, who we are.
        Humanity, in its limited nature,
                Expecting what we expect, and failing to grasp
                        what falls outside the realm of assumption.
        Dead men, we are told, stay dead.
                They do not live again.
                        Tombs, with walls of thick stone, ensconced in earth,
                                do not suddenly lose their grasp.

And so it is in this wilderness,
        where disciples face the truth
                and struggle to make sense of it.
And one, named Thomas, needs proof,
        Not there when Jesus came previously.
                Thomas, the faithful skeptic, the cautious believer,
                        The one who demands to see nail marks on his hands.
The story of Thomas feels familiar -
        We've not only heard the story -
                We are the story.
We are our own “Thomas,” in our own ways -
        Wanting to cling to the miraculous, but only to a point;
                Faithful in who we follow
                        As long as the path remains familiar.
        We want so desperately to believe in the implausible,
                the wonderful, the magnificent,
        But we have been down this road before -
                A road that often begins in joy and ends in consternation,
                        The promise falling short of fulfillment.
        We long to believe, but we are hesitant,
               We are skeptical,
                        We are untrusting,
                                We are afraid.
We are the disciples hiding in the house,
        Doors locked, windows shut;
                Refusing entrance to the world
                        And the promise that waits just outside our door.

The words are spoken to Thomas, and to us;
        As he came once again into their midst, and extends to the Doubter
                Scarred hands.....
        Shalom – come out of the wilderness,
               Come into my presence,
                        Come home.
        And from Thomas, words given with a mighty shout
                And the jubilation of one who finds, after much searching,
                        his greatest treasure.
        Words spoken by one man
                and yet spoken by multitudes of faithful
                        down through time:
                                My Lord and My God!
To which he replied:
        Blessed are those who have not seen
                    And still have come to believe.

Words for Thomas,
        Words for those in the fear-filled room;
Words that have echoed over centuries and miles
        To countless numbers who did not see that Sunday evening
                And yet still believe.
Words that spring out of the pages of scripture,
        And rest in our hearts, thousands of years
                after the one who spoke them walked this earth:
        We are blessed -
                blessed when we haven't seen
                        and yet still, believe.

Hear then the good news of this Easter morn,
        Those who live in the paradox called life:
                We are blessed!  We are blessed!
Blessed when we go through the course of our day
        Caught between promise and fulfillment.
Blessed when we struggle with how to reconcile
        A loving God and a world full of injustice and hatred:
                We are blessed!
Blessed when we try to make sense of the senseless:
        Random mass shootings, killing innocents;
                earthquakes devastating ancient lands and claiming lives,
                        Some living in plenty while others always in want.
                                War.  Violence.  Hatred.  Bigotry:
Blessed when we enter into the valley of shadows
        In the hospital room, at the funeral home,
                In the unemployment line.
Blessed when faced with trying to be
        An Easter people in a Good Friday world,
                Holding on to hope in the midst of hopelessness:
                        We are blessed!
Blessed when we have not seen the healing grace of God
         When we persist in the journey into the wilderness
                and yet still, even still, believe.

We are blessed – because the very nature of the journey is about more-
        than just believing in something,
The journey we embark on this Easter Sunday
        is one that calls us to follow:
                Follow him as he enters an animal stable on December night
                        And later into the depths of the desert;
        Follow him as he stands on a mountainside with thousands of hungry
                And later comforts a woman at a well;
        Follow him as he parades subversively into Jerusalem,
                And then to the temple
                        And on to an upper room;
        Follow him to the foot of the cross,
                And the horror of death
                        And an empty tomb.

And in the homecoming that is resurrection
        We witness the sun shining forth on an Easter morning
                    So brightly that it fills us
                                 With a joy that shatters the monotony
                                             of life as we once knew it.

And as we feel the new morning breeze, his breath resting on us,
       We move, grace-filled, from promise into fulfillment –
                    All our hopes, all our dreams, made real.
So let us now join together
        with the chorus of believers and followers down through the centuries:
                from a skeptic and a roomful of those embalmed in fear
                        To a world released from entombment.
We raise our voices collectively
        and proclaim the joy of resurrection, saying for all to hear:
                HE IS RISEN!  HE IS RISEN INDEED!
                        ALLELUIA!  AMEN!
                                Thanks be to God!